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Summoning a burst of adrenaline, I feint high, tricking him into raising his axe.

Then I slash the spear’s tip across his exposed flank.

He roars, blood spattering onto the sand.

Anger contorts his features. Freedmen cheer, but the orc unleashes a renewed onslaught, hacking at me with savage fury.

I dodge left, block right, each impact jolting my wounded side.

My lungs burn. If I slip once, that axe cleaves me in half.

The chant of Freedmen swells, urging me on.

The orc panting, eyes blazing with wrath.

He’s used to quick kills, yet I stand defiant.

My gaze flicks to Mira—she clutches the railing, tears streaking her cheeks.

Our eyes lock for a heartbeat, and I sense her unspoken plea: Come back alive.

A fierce wave of protective resolve floods me. I will not leave her to the orcs.

Growling, the orc tries a sweeping blow from the side.

I duck, letting the blade slice air overhead.

Then I thrust the spear’s butt into his gut, driving the wind from him.

He staggers. Freedmen roar. Seizing momentum, I pivot, ramming the spear tip at his chest. He barely parries with the axe handle, but my strike pierces flesh near his shoulder.

Blood seeps, and he bellows in rage, smashing my spear aside again.

The wooden shaft cracks, splitting my only weapon in two.

A hush of horror grips Freedmen. The orc sees my broken spear, triumph flashing in his eyes.

He lunges, swinging the axe in a lethal downward arc.

With no time to dodge fully, I catch the blade’s haft between the splintered spear ends, straining to halt its descent.

My arms tremble, muscles screaming. The orc applies crushing force, inching the axe closer to my face.

Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring my vision.

I let out a desperate roar, twisting the broken spear in a last effort.

For a moment, it seems I’ll fail, his raw strength overpowering me.

Then I recall everything at stake Mira’s life, Freedmen’s hope, the city’s future.

A surge of defiance burns through my veins.

I will not break. I shift my weight abruptly, letting the axe slip sideways.

The orc overbalances, stumbling forward.

I snap the spear’s splintered end upward, raking across his throat.

Blood spurts. He gargles, dropping to his knees, axe slipping from limp fingers.

A shocked hush grips the colosseum. Freedmen freeze, expecting me to deliver the final blow.

The orc clutches his neck, glaring at me with a feral fury that flickers into glazed shock.

I pant, chest heaving, my side throbbing from the battered wound.

Freedmen erupt in cheers, the stands ringing with shouts of relief and awe.

Senators stare, stunned, some half-rising from their seats. Vaelen gapes, outraged.

The orc collapses facedown, blood staining the sand.

My Freedmen rush forward, forming a protective ring around me.

The rest of the orc warband stands in shock, uncertain whether to avenge their leader or flee.

Mira vaults down from the stands, pushing past Freedmen, eyes brimming with tears.

She skids to my side, arms trembling as she reaches for me.

I lower the broken spear, breathing uneven. My gaze meets hers, heartbreak and triumph mingling. Her voice trembles, “Remanos… you did it.”

My knees threaten to buckle, but Freedmen support me. The orc warband, seeing their champion bleed out, wavers, some stepping back. Freedmen brandish weapons, ready to repulse them if they lunge. Vaelen tries to roar over the confusion, voice cracking, “Orcs, kill them all! The city is yours!”

But the orcs don’t move. Their champion lost. Their impetus for easy victory crumbles under Freedmen’s united front.

Some orcs, uncertain and leaderless, begin dragging the chieftain’s body away.

Freedmen crowd them, but I raise a weary hand.

“Let them leave. If they have sense, they’ll withdraw,” I manage hoarsely.

Gradually, the orc warband backs off, carrying their fallen champion.

Freedmen and crafters hiss warnings, brandishing spears to ensure the orcs’ path out of the colosseum remains unchallenged but guarded.

The tension remains thick, though it feels like the threat dissipates with every orc who retreats.

Mira clutches my arm, tears on her cheeks. “Are you hurt badly?”

I shake my head, though pain arcs through my side.

“Just a wound. I’ll live.” Freedmen crowd in, offering cloth to stanch my bleeding thigh.

I lean on Mira, gratitude flooding me. She’s safe.

The orcs yield. Even the Senate’s illusions break under the gaze of thousands who witnessed the duel’s outcome.

Vaelen, seeing his orc allies recede, splutters in rage. “This is a travesty! The Freedmen are traitors, you used sabotage?—”

A furious cry rises from Freedmen and crafters, many calling him out for orchestrating orc infiltration.

Ortem steps forward, face grim, addressing the battered dais.

“Vaelen, enough. We all saw your betrayal. This city will not follow your lead.” Senators who once cowered now nod fervently, eyes flicking to Freedmen who outnumber them.

Freedmen surge onto the arena floor, chanting “Remanos! Remanos!” in a wave of victorious relief.

My heart feels close to bursting. I stand amid them, battered and drained, yet more alive than ever.

Mira loops her arm around my waist, helping me remain upright.

She’s still trembling, tears mingling with a fierce smile.

Ortem’s voice rings out, addressing the Senate, “We must hold Vaelen accountable for conspiring with orcs, for sowing chaos. Let the Bavkus judge him in a formal inquiry.” A majority of senators murmur agreement, no longer cowed by Vaelen’s manipulations.

Freedmen and crafters cheer, sensing the city’s power shift at last.

Vaelen tries to protest, but Freedmen restrain him. He shouts curses, hurling threats. My Freedmen guard, Tiro, gags him to keep the arena from hearing more vile nonsense. The stands erupt in applause, the tension releasing in an exhalation of triumph.

I slump, pain throbbing. Freedmen crowd around, offering support.

Mira kisses my temple in a moment of raw relief.

My chest tightens with emotion. We did it.

The orcs withdrew, Vaelen’s hold shattered, Freedmen stand victorious in the same arena that once crowned me champion.

Now, champion or not, I see how the people genuinely revere the stance I took.

Mira helps me shuffle toward an alcove at the arena’s edge, Freedmen clearing a path.

The crowd’s roar lingers behind me, a deafening wave of exultation.

Her hands tremble as she presses a cloth against my thigh wound.

My entire body shakes, adrenaline finally receding.

But the knowledge that Mira stands here, safe, kindles warmth through the pain.

She lifts her gaze, eyes shining. “You’ve saved the city again, champion or Freedman, it doesn’t matter. They see you now for who you truly are.”

A raw laugh escapes me. “They see Freedmen’s unity.

I just—did my part.” My voice cracks with exhaustion.

Freedmen are gathering in the arena’s center, some hugging each other, some chanting for me.

Ortem and a handful of senators watch from the dais, newly humbled, already preparing a purge of Vaelen’s conspirators.

Mira leans close, her breath warm on my ear. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, tears brimming. “You proved them all wrong.”

My throat locks, tears of my own threatening. “Couldn’t have done it without you and Freedmen’s faith. We tore down Vaelen’s conspiracy together.” My chest feels too full, a swirl of relief, love, and bone-deep weariness.

Her hand brushes my cheek softly, eyes brimming with emotion. “Now rest. We’ll need you to unify the city if orcs regroup.”

I manage a nod, letting Freedmen hustle me onto a makeshift stretcher.

The moment I slump down, wincing, I see Freedmen forming ranks around the dais, ensuring no further sabotage.

Ortem addresses the crowd, calling for a new era of accountability.

My head spins, half-listening. So many changes swirl in the air—perhaps a reformed Senate, Freedmen recognized as rightful defenders, no more illusions of champion rank overshadowing real leadership.

My eyes close, that swirl of exhaustion nearly overwhelming.

But I sense Mira’s presence at my side, her hand clasping mine, anchoring me.

The final image is Freedmen cheering, crafters shouting praises, the colosseum once a place of forced spectacle now reclaimed by the people’s triumph.

Darkness hovers at the edges of my vision, pain clawing at me, but I cling to a single truth: we stood against betrayal, unarmed yet unstoppable.

In the hush of the colosseum corridor, Freedmen carefully carry me away, Mira pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

My heart pulses with the promise of a new dawn.

The orcs may regroup, but we’ve dealt a blow to Vaelen’s illusions.

Freedmen surge forward, shaping the city’s destiny.

And no matter what tomorrow brings, I know I haven’t fought my last battle—but with Mira by my side, that burden is easier to bear.

I let the din of cheers fade behind us, a new conviction lodged firmly in my chest. Champion’s hammer or not, I’ve championed the truth, and Milthar will never be the same.